


Angels Descending

by LordJohrak



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Eldritch, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordJohrak/pseuds/LordJohrak
Summary: The Imperium has long looked to the sky, imagining that one day His Angels of Death would descend upon their world. For most, it is a chance to join their ranks and venerate the Emeperor. For a few, it is a burning hope that washes away their foes.And for some, it is a reminder that the galaxy is much older than they.
Kudos: 1





	Angels Descending

\----------------

Inquisitor, 

This recording has been sent by request of the Planetary Governor of Andavu I, for your perusal and consultation. Recovery was made by the Storm Spears chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. Administratum data recovery confirms footage was taken by Andvau III’s civilian surveillance. Scion Team Sigma was sent to perform follow up extraction, but has yet to return.

Quarantine procedure has been established. We appreciate your cooperation in the matter, and are your disposal.

\----------------

A rich world spins in the vast darkness, one of the many jewels by The God-Emperor's golden song. It was not the wealth of its jewel crusted nobles that made the world shine, it was the faith of its people, and fruit of their toil. Andavu III was an agrarian world, its one city a dash of civilization in a sea of lustrous fields that fed the Southern march of the sector’s Imperial Guard for the last hundred years. And for the last three hundred, no rebellion nor ideology had broken that peace. 

As it had a countless times before, dawn broke washed the city. Washing to the center, it rested it on the sweeping buttresses and stern spires of the cathedral anchoring the city’s heart. His Golden Choir opened its doors to receive the light.

“The Emperor protects, Father.”

“He does Tullen.” Descending the cathedral’s shallow steps, Bishop Brosov stopped beside the saluting guardsman to lay a hand on his shoulder. “But there is one thing he doesn’t do”

The Bishop lunged before the solider could react. Finding himself firmly embrace, he wrestled a hand up to clap the bishop’s back. “Morning to you too Father.” 

“No, he leaves greetings to us.” Breaking away, Brosov looked into the clear sky. “And the excavations, Emperor knows we could use the space.”

Tullen nodded, already the street trembled with the great boring machines trundling underfoot. Some day Andavu III would be a hive-city, but you to build down before you build up. But for now it was a minor thing, so he flashed Brosov a smile. “It’s quiet now Father, might be time to rest.”

“The Emperor’s children never rest.” A frown replaced Brosov’s thought as he approached the cathedral’s corner. Splattered, red footprints trailed into the alley separating His Golden Choir from the overfull tenements a dozen feet away. 

Curious, Brosov braved that dusk, then suddenly stopped. “Oh dear.”

\--

“Magistrate, the governor requested you.”

“Again?” Muriel stared into her frothing re-caf, the resultant frown accentuating her face’s thin creases. “Better be about the Excavation finishing, damn machines been waking me up.”

“Tell me about it.” Across the lobby, Regulator Sheller leaned back, his chair’s dry leather groaning in protest. “I… ah.” Yawning, he settled back down to chew out the words. “Doubt it, sounded pretty excited to me.”

“Sheller...” Letting the word wane, Muriel drained the re-caf before piercing the man with an enervating stare. “When exactly was this?”

“Dawn, about two hours ago.” Stomping to his feet, Sheller tugged on his blue Arbites jacket. “Wouldn’t want to keep the Governor waiting, would ya?”

“Was supposed to have today off.” Muriel scowled at her empty mug, then pulled her jacket over one shoulder. 

Following Sheller out of the office, she raising a hand against the bright morning, stern and intimidating as the Arbites headquarters rising at her back. Usually, men and women of all ages gave it a respectful berth, even avoiding the shadows of its stony Aquila. Usually, their efforts doubled seeing the Marshal herself, dressed in Imperial blue like a statue come to life. 

Squinting at the men and women dancing the streets, Muriel lowered her hand and dropped her shoulders. Her expression softened as a young girl ran by tossing flowers that fluttered down to the black gloss of her boots. Catching on her palm, Muriel twisted back toward Sheller. “What’d I miss?”

“Looks like a Tithe, but the Governor didn’t mention anything.” Sheller scowled the softness of his youth succumbing to suspicion. “He should’ve known if-”

“Tell you what.” Muriel banished Sheller’s expression with a firm clap on the back. “Once we’re done, head out early. You’re young enough you should enjoy life.”

“Please.” Shrugging her off, Sheller tapped his fist on her shoulder. “I like this job.”

“Makes two of us then.” Darting away, Muriel snagged a racing child. The girl looked up with a giggle, brightening as she saw Muriel’s wide smile. On her forehead, ashes formed an Imperial Aquila, while both hands clenched a gleam of silver.

“Where you rushing off to?” Muriel sank onto her haunches to see eye to eye. “Might hurt someone, running around like that.”

“I’m giving this to mommy.” The girl extended both hands, revealing carved metal wings melting in those small hands. Noticing, the girl gasped, closing her hands back up lest it escape.

“I’m sure she’ll love it.” Muriel gaze drifted, plenty more children ran by; squealing in delight, hands balled. Nobody but Sheller noticed her voice tighten “Where’d you get it?”

“The Cathedral!” Scrunching her nose, the girl broke into a toothy smile. 

“Well, tell mommy Muriel said you do good work.” Reaching into her pocket, Muriel took out a slice of chocolate. “Take care of her for me, Okay?”

“Okay!” Cracking that grin even wider, the girl dropped her old treasure for the nice prize, disappearing before Muriel could have second thoughts.

Smiling softly, Muriel knelt to examine the silvery mass that already lost form. “Muck.” 

“Thought so.” Sheller watched where the girl had melted into the crowd. “Excavations started digging that up, what, last week?” He crossed his arms. “Administratum designated it as hazardous. Spent eight hours guarding their excavation holdings, no one should be making statues out of it.”

“Do you remember any markings?” Muriel remained in a low crouch, but Sheller felt as if the question was ready to explode. He pursed his lips.

“I remember it being dark.”

“Probably what’s got Niklas bent out of shape.” Ignoring her own question, Muriel resumed her walk. Up ahead, the Governor’s Mansion spread golden wings and dour statues to embrace the city. Greater throngs converged there, loud and joyous.

“Maybe.” Sheller paused to loop his jaw. “Still think it’s the Tithe though.”

“Me too.” This time, even Sheller missed the twitch of her jaw as they entered the Aquila’s shadow.

\--

“Someone knew about the Storm Spears before us.” Governor Niklas’ voice was worn, his youth another casualty of distant battlefields. Yet the man himself stood firm, framed by the dark luster of the room’s walls, and rich scarlet of his cloak. With his back turned toward the window, there was little to see of his grizzled face. “I trust you understand the consequences?”

“A little too well.” Muriel glowered at the desk between them, a single envelop replacing its usual clutter. “If that information leaked, we’re all at risk.”

“Citizens are expected to die, the same cannot be said for Astartes.” Leaning onto the table, Niklas’ heavy-lidded eyes closed in thought. Niklas pointed beyond the wall, toward the city square teeming with jubilant millions. “They have been celebrating since this morning.” 

“Rejoice, for you are saved. Rejoice, for your son is chosen.” 

Despite separations of oak and stone, Muriel stilld hear the words. The Tithe’s venerated cant shook her bones. Indeed, she had seen it shake cities. If they were right, the Angels of Death would shunt into orbit, gobbling up the best of a generation for impossibly distant wars.

“Rejoice, for His Angels come.”

“This backwater should barely know His Angels exist, let alone their movements.” Pinching his brow, Niklas dropped into his seat with a groan. “Even I wasn’t aware, until the Storm Spears notified us of their approach an hour ago.”

“I’ll start with the Bishop.” Muriel laid a scarred hand on the folder. “He was the first one to report anything, right?”

“He was.” Niklas scratched at a puckered burn on his cheek with a distant frown. “While the Ecclesiarchy is punctilious as they are exhausting, they did not organize the festivities.”

Muriel rose from her chair, and dipped her head. “I’ll make it work.” 

\--

His Golden Choir sparkled in the indolent sun, while flocks of two-headed eagles floated lazily on its reflected thermals. Listening to their thin cries, Muriel figured they were excited as the citizens crawling the ground. Andavu III’s main plaza was filled to breaking, but there was no sign of Much statues being handed out 

“You don’t think that girl lied, do ya?” Arms crossed, Sheller stalked the cathedral steps. A gentle hum of chants poured from the open doors, carrying him toward Muriel with a frown on his face.

“They were here.” Scarred knees creaking, Muriel crouched at the stair’s side. An arms-length away, ruddy footprints ambled in gloomy alleys, but she was occupied by the glinting flagstones. Nudging the material with her pinky, Muriel watched one mercurial orb shudder, revealing a bright interior. Others like it splattered across a thousand footsteps. Suddenly, her eye stung, a sharp bite that closed her hand and dragged her hand back up.

“Yeah, and the Tithe is still going.” Sheller growled, looking elsewhere. “Why’d they stop?”

Blinking, Muriel quirked a finger over her shoulder. “That’s why we’re here.”

\--

“I am grateful for your assistance.” Brushing his robe off, Brosov stepped away the tenement wall. Even after the alley-chill, noon’s rays brought him no comfort. 

“The Arbites always take the Church seriously, Father.” Making the Aquila, Muriel flashed her usual smile. “I hope you’re well.”

“Much as I can be.” Brosov tried a weak grin of his own, lips fluttering like his heart as he gestured toward the church wall. “I hope this was an enthusiastic soul, rather than a misguided one.”

Craning her neck, Muriel looked on mutely, while Sheller whistled softly. Half of the cathedral’s stone ribs had been violated, carefully painted a deep orange. At its peak, a ruddy sun blazed, shedding clustered smears that gradually emerging as semi-human silhouettes composed in elegant brush-strokes. 

“Don’t look like Astartes to me.” Sheller scuffed his foot, fighting the urge to step closer.

“I thought that at first. Then... well.” Brosov pointed to large letters at about waist-level, painted in a silvery sheen.

Angels Descending

“Then you notified the Governor?” Muriel scribbled the thought in a weathered notepad. 

“Shortly thereafter.” Brosov wove his hands together with a grimace. “I confess I admired the work for a moment, my first instinct was good citizens celebrate His Angels.”

“Understandable.” Moving her gaze down, Muriel indicated the painted boots tramping toward the cathedral fore. Under her finger, they seemed rimmed with a wet glare. “Did you see anyone handing silver figurines to children?”

“I saw a group propositioning the crowd with ‘tokens of His affection’.” Brosov twitched his fingers for quotation, then tapped his bald scalp. “I recall a pair in black watching them, one of whom had a litany of absolution tattooed on his forehead.”

Muriel looked up sharply, then placed a finger on her lapel. “Did either have a red I here?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Thank you, that covers my questions.” Scratching another note, she looked to Sheller. “Notice anything?”

“Prints are fresher than the wall, sir.” Snapping his heels together, Sheller pointed to where the colorful prints. “Disorganized, unlike the painting. Maybe covering their tracks?”

“Noted.” Another scribble, another querying look.

“No clean spots for drop cloth or ladders, possible done from there.” His chin swiveled toward the cyclopean apartments. Little escaped the squat windows, save brief snips of cheery music.

“The apartments?” Brosov pushed his thick brows together. “They are good people.”

“Relax Father, it’s only a hypothesis.” Muriel gave the bishop a reassuring smile before diving back into her notes. “Thoughts about the materials?”

“Stuff on the wall looks heavy, industrial.” Sheller squatted down. “Prints are light, I’d guess a single application of house paint. Would’ve taken all night to paint with this. Especially that.” Sheller pointed to the silver clusters. “Those standout, can almost see them when I close my eyes. Definitely not like any of the other paint.”

“Could it have been done in the dark?”

“Hadn’t considered that.” Chuckling, Sheller hooked a hand around his chin. “Good point captain. Doubt it, maybe they rigged lights behind them.”

“I believe I would notice work that.” Brosov pressed his lips into a thin scar. “But, if someone did, they could simply say they were celebrating the Tithe.”

“Explains the early festivities.” Muriel flipped up her notebook. “That’s something to work with. Father, any families you expect will be helpful?”

“The Guldrins are fine people.” Brosov took a deep breath. “They tell me they pray to the Emperor from their window. I imagine they would have an excellent view of...” He waved his hand vaguely. “This.”

“Thank you Father. Sheller?” Notebook tucked away, Muriel dropped her hands, keeping shy of the laspistol looped about her waist. “You good?”

“Yes sir. We calling backup to watch the place?”

“They got better things to worry about.” Breaking back into the street’s warmth, Muriel smiled at the milling crowd. A few Arbites patrolled, handling youthful outbursts with laughs and handshakes. Swallowing the smile, she faced the apartments. “Let ‘em have their fun.”

“Roger that.”

As they drew closer, notes of a faraway trumpet floated out of the apartment’s listless mouth. Ignoring its upbeat notes, Muriel looked past a dozen loitering residents, and into spartan halls. There was nothing but concrete, and iron saints intended to promote reflection. She slunk in, passing unnoticed by the idling guard.

“Little quiet.” Sheller whispered as he silently crept behind. “You’d think everyone had orders to be outside.”

“The Tithe is an order.” Acclimating to the hall’s gloom, Muriel noticed discolorations running its flanks. They recalled the church painting, winged fingers and lofty suns. Muriel raised a hand to point, but wiped her eye as it twinged. Blinking away floating after-images, she nodded toward the mural. “You see that?”

“See what?” Sheller tilted his head for a better angle. “Seeing nothing.”

“Mural on the left.” 

“Huh, even painted their doors...” 

“Can’t blame them, been thirty years since the last Tithe.” Muriel grinned wistfully. “Assuming they didn’t come around while I was gone.” Brushing he discolored wall, Muriel rubbed her fingers together with a frown. “Viscous.”

“Probably Muck, miners use it in the dark when they get ahead of the drills.” Sheller extended his hand, then thought better of it. “Shouldn’t be here.”

What is it made of?”

“Beats me. Heard the Administratum sent samples to the Sector Capitol, no answer.” Sheller trailed off as Muriel stopped at door four, The Guldrins, according to its nameplate. He finished his thought when she looked sharply at him. “Suppose that means it’s safe. Even if it’s not dug up anywhere else.”

“Capitol takes its time, you learn that on the job.” Muriel spoke more to the door than him. “Sometimes you have to make your own conclusions.”

“Sooo….” Sheller swallowed his frown. “What you waiting for?”

“Looking for.” Muriel thumbed the corner of the door-frame, and a black smudge peeled away. Four red legs marked an X; its center obscured by a larger I of the same color, limned in gold, with three ticks flanking a white skull in its middle.

“What’s that?” Leaning in as Muriel wiped away the mark, Sheller glimpsed only a crimson smear.

“Nothing.” Muriel fixed him with a hard look. “Go join the others, I can handle this.”

“Give it up, you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“Fine.” Muriel rapped the door. “This Arbites Muriel, may I come in?” 

They waited, listening until the air glutted itself on the silence. Beyond the open door, the celebration continued, dulled as the pair strained to hear past this closed portal. As if to help, the crowd’s sweet muttering drifted away, little by little.

\--

“Oh, Holy God-Emperor, grant me your wisdom, that I might guide your flock. Grant me your strength, that I might shepherd them. For we are raw and untested.” Bishop Brosov dipped his head, bald scalp gleaming in the thick, golden incense as he prostrated himself before the carved throne. 

If there was an answer, it was lost in His Golden Choir’s melodious chimes. Eagles shuffled among the misty gantries, watching the priests go about their daily ministrations. Their footfalls fell down through incense lit by stained-glass rays, puttering down about a nave occupied by handfuls of bowed heads. Picturing them, Brosov closed his eyes to will peace upon the faithful.

Silver minnows swam through his dark world, worming toward those quiet adherents. Eyes flying open, Brosov looked to the throne. Winged ovals clung to it, shining bright even in the golden light cascading from behind the altar. 

“Is that you...?” He closed both hands over one of the strange things, only to witness them flutter free. Leaning back, he clenched the golden eagle hung about his throat. 

A knock on the door provided a welcome distraction, and Brosov rose. “Yes? What is it?”

“The Emperor protects, Father.” Tullen’s voice was hoarse, like a swallowed rasp. 

“Tullen?” Brosov put on a relieved smile as he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

\--

“This is the Arbites, do you have time for a few questions?” Muriel slouched back, frowning at the mocking echo.

“Sounds like-” Sheller locked his jaw, something dragged along the floor within. Then he cinched it to breaking as a voice creaked out.

“What’s going on… out there?” The voice was hollow, and ugly as iron scraping concrete. 

“I’m Magistrate Muriel.” Leaning on the door-frame, Muriel adopted a help tone. “Can you let me in? I want to talk with about the painting outside.”

“Oh, that!” Another, higher, voice bloomed close to the door. “Did you.. see who made it?”

“That’s what I’m here about.” Muriel narrowed her eyes. “It’ll just take a moment. Please open the door.”

“They’re outside.” As the first voice returned, the door creaked open. “Right there.”

“What are they… doing out there?” The second asked, breathless.

“They’re out there now?” Muriel inched forward, sliding her fingertips into the aperture to push it open. All was dark, save square windows overlooking the cathedral’s silvery bruise. No one waited inside, no one said anything.

“Apologies, but I’m coming in.” Slinking through, Muriel saw dull silhouettes of furniture arranged around an Aquila winking on the far wall. She stopped as furtive words welled deep from the shadows of its billowing curtains.

“Don’t think… they should be there.” 

“We’re here to help.” Lifting a hand, Muriel froze Sheller in place. “You’re not in trouble, we just want to know if you saw who made that painting.”

“They’re… from the Excavations.” That second voice slunk out from Muriel’s right. Flinching that way, she found only a large chair pointed toward the window. Some passing breeze stirred the curtains enough to show someone reclined there in the afternoon light.

“From the Excavation?” Relaxing a little, Muriel stepped closer. “If you can tell us-” 

She stopped, waiting for a gale of laughter at her expense as the drapes settled down. Darkness descended, but the second ticked on in silence. Reclined in the chair was a comely woman, hardened by decades. Toil had inscribed a rugged vitality, and a smile waned on those thin lips. If only tears didn’t trickle down her cheeks from the silver caverns of her eyes.

“Emperor...” Hissing, Muriel snapped back, knuckles brushing her cheek. Despite her reaction, the resident woman grinned, oblivious to the crimson I inscribed on her forehead. Other runes traced its circumference, with a large title inked beneath.

I-S29.

“Magistrate.” Sheller swept in, laspistol up, to cover her angles. “Something wrong?”

“Put that thing down.” Muriel barked. “Won’t help.”

“What in the Emperor’s name...” Sheller tightened his grip, until his knuckles cracked. 

“It’s a crime scene, act like it.” Yanking the curtains apart, Muriel examined the seated woman through the falling light. Now she saw the graying hair stuck to blistered skin and ruby-inscriptions.

“Inquisitorial Sanction-29.” Muriel whispered, brushing ragged locks from scalded flesh. She squinted at the broken character beneath, then let it drop. “Extremis...”

“Captain, this is still wet.” Sheller’s voice yanked her around. Ten feet away, another window tossed dappled curtains over an outstretched body, silver glinting in the rust-splatter about its face.

“Get away from that.” Storming over, Muriel tossed him away by the shoulder. Something glinted in the corner of her eye, squeezing through the tall windows. She rounded on it, but saw only the church’s lavish paint.

“Easy, I didn’t touch anything. Just looked.” Stumbling back, Sheller pointed at the silver. It’s gleam suggested a liquid quality long lost to the ruddy crust. There was a black tinge to its edges, flecks of white in its interior. She hadn’t noticed before, but this wasn’t clutched in a child’s hands. 

Curiosity overcoming shock, Sheller stepped in. “You think the painters murdered them?” 

“This wasn’t a murder.”

“Captain?” Following Muriel’s index finger, Sheller’s gaze landed on the woman, then found her forehead. “Oh...”

“Her eyes are gone.” Muriel recited the words from memory, dull, and emotionless. “A message. Or…s never-mind.”

“Have you...” Inhaling weakly, Sheller whispered. “Have you seen that before?”

“You see everything on the job. Eventually.” Muriel touched her laspistol, then jerked her hand away. “You heard those voices, right?”

Face pale, Sheller nodded.

\--

“Pardon my interruption, Governor.” 

“Hmmm?” Niklas frowned at the trio entering his office. Between his two guards was unfamiliar woman. The rank on her Imperial Navy uniform forgave that. 

“Sir.” She saluted smartly. “Command detected an unidentified craft leaving orbit sir.”

“Yes, I noticed your message.” Activating the cogitator at his side, Niklas examined the image spinning into existence. Priding himself on his attention to detail, Niklas identified two constellations that pinned this image to Andvau III’s orbit. Still, he didn’t see any fire or debris, and so glowered at the newcomer. “Is my attention really necessary?”

“You’ll want to see this sir.”

“As you…” Niklas let his thought hang like his jaw. Suspended in the inky void, a dark ship, lean and compact, raced ahead. Adorning its side was an “I”, embellished with three strikes and a skull. Niklas shut his mouth with a click. Then he gulped an unsteady breath, and glared at the naval officer.

“This vessel is leaving, correct? Let me guess, you have no records of it entering?”

“Yes sir. It likely came in stealthed.”

“You will continue monitoring it.” Niklas folded his hands to rest his chin. “Do not notify anyone, unless its course changes. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” Bowing stiffly, she stalked out.

Once alone, Niklas gripped his head in both hands. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, held it, released. He did so twice, before brash knocking interrupted him. 

“What is it now!” Snarling, he flung an accusing finger at the door. 

A voice, like grinding ice, replied.

“This is... Arbites Muriel, do... you have time for a few questions?”

\--

“It said the Excavation, right?”

“You’re not really listening to that, are you?” Sheller blanched more, if it was even possible.

“We need answers.” Muriel squinted, trying to dislodge the silver splinter in the top of her vision. Determined not to rub it, she barged out into the hall. “We won’t find anything there.”

“How do you know that?”

“Experience.”

“Okay...” Sheller bit his lip, then looked down at the floor. It struck him that the earth lay silent now, though he didn’t notice the crowd’s quiet which made it possible. All the same, he released a shaky sigh. “Excavations should still be going.”

“Niklas would’ve told us if he canceled.” Muriel loped further into the quiet building. 

For the next minute, they were accompanied only chuckling footsteps. Empty halls made for persistent echoes, which had Sheller peeking over his shoulder now and then. As he looked back front a third time, he ground to a stop. Here, a dozen apartments on each side had been hollowed, and the walls knocked down to make room for construction equipment. Light streaked in, filtering through kicked dust that must have choked out all the city’s noise. A black pit swallowed twenty feet of earth, while the rest was chewed up by treads, or occupied by boxed hardware, discarded tools, and piles of rubble. The only slash of color, was yellow plastic guarding the obsidian maw.

Hardhat Area – Do Not Crossing

Nearby, neat piles of civilian clothes waited for absent owners. They looked stale, like weeks had passed instead of hours, but that didn’t catch Muriel’s attention. She had eyes only for the red skull stamped on the pit-wall. 

I-S29E

Sheller didn’t see that, he was already twisting around.

“Go.” Muriel advanced on the pit.

“It’s not that.” Lunging, Sheller seized Muriel’s shoulder with a hiss. “Listen.”

For a moment she heard it, the crushing nothingness. Not a whisper of the Tithe’s celebrations stole in, though by now they must have seized the whole city. And for once, she wished silence was all she heard.

“Something’s... wrong.” A voice croaked from the black pit, like a man squeezed against a fence. “Not right.”

“That’s our place.” Picking up the sagging plastic, Muriel passed right pass under.

“Hold on, you going to pretend you didn’t hear that?”

“No.” Muriel climbed steel stairs, announcing her descent for all to hear. “I’m going to find it.”

“Emperor protect us.” Checking one last time to make sure no one followed, Sheller joined her. 

The descent dragged, tasting of damp earth, spiced with grease, fermented in gloom until becoming something else entirely. Sheller groped blindly, then winced as automatic lights burst alive. Shielding his eyes, he saw Muriel reach bottom, elbow bent over her face. He also saw the comatose forms resting in shimmering pools.

“Muriel, I think we better-”

“We’re Arbites Sheller.” She faced him, right eye shut against the light. “This is our duty.”

“This is way beyond us.” Stepping onto the loamy soil, Sheller waved over the eight titanic machines responsible for the tunnel dominating his left, foundations of a bigger, better city. Now though, the only thing moving, was Muck trickling from the walls. Sucking a deep breath, he sighed. “We should call for backup.”

“They’ll be here soon.” 

“They will?” Sheller stared hard at Muriel’s retreating back. “Didn’t hear you call.” 

She didn’t answer.

They walked right, toward the new excavations. Lights strung along the wall gasped on one by one, illuminating moist walls, and discarded equipment. Sheller lost track of time, trudging on until it felt like he had done this his whole life. He only stopped when Muriel did.

“There.” Her stressed word had him blinking over a vast cave. 

It was like someone had balled up the night sky, then dropped it into the earth. Looking down, he saw nothing but a winking darkness, and the desire to know. Compelled, Sheller poked his head over the drop. At first there was only void, drawing him in. Then there was something else, the merest hint of a glimmer.

“What... is that?”

It wasn’t his voice. Wasn’t Muriel’s either.

“Run.” A fist to the chest drove him back. Stumbling, Sheller looked into Muriel eyes. Eye. Her left was wide, commanding, but her shedding silver tears. Snarling, she thrust a finger at him, mouth contorting to shout again. He didn’t need to be told a second time.

As Muriel wheeled back toward the void, she saw it all; the embryonic abyss seeping, running, and growing. She saw the silver motes floating like pregnant jewels, shadows stirring deep within those minute colors. Then she felt something, a wet rustle behind her closed eye. Those silvery things populating the crown of her vision suddenly descended with familiar whispers.

Sighing, she reached to her belt and pulled out her laspistol. It felt cool, comfortable, in her hands with the promise she had all the time in the world. A confident smile soothed the worn crags of her face.

“The Emperor Protects.”


End file.
